


there’s a piece of me in every single second of every single day

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 10:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hendo retires and shacks up with Studge in Jamaica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there’s a piece of me in every single second of every single day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts), [captainsarmband](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsarmband/gifts).



> It took me over a year to write this fic, it feels a bit unreal to be posting it finally. This ship also has a primer, which you can find [here](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/post/134350072955/studgerson-a-primer), in case you aren't convinced yet.
> 
> Many thanks to Laura, who coined the ship name Studgerson, and made me feel like I wasn't crazy for shipping it as much as I do. And all my love to Sharon, who encouraged me to keep writing this.
> 
> Title is from a Jack's Mannequin song, The Mixed Tape.
> 
> EDIT: This fic now also has graphic art, by the lovely [booperesque](http://booperesque.tumblr.com/), which you can find [here](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/post/156038711720/a-retirement-fic-rec-they-meet-in-a-hug-in-the).

 

 

It’s almost anticlimactic in the end.

 

The Kop sings his name and his teammates pat him on the back, and his armband has never felt as light as it does now. Hendo looks up at the smiling, crying faces singing You Never Walk Alone and believes it.

 

Then, almost abruptly, the festivities are over and he’s on a plane, the dry air stinging his eyes and the stewardess offering him a cup of tea with a gentle smile. There’s cake frosting on the edge of his sweater and his fingers smell like champagne, and he watches the clouds go past through the plane window, hiding the ground below with murky white, and tries not to think of anything at all.

 

He lands in Kingston, Jamaica, a few hours later.

 

He’s been here a few times before, but for a second the airport looks like any other airport he’s ever been in and he’s confused at the absence of red clad figures at his back, but he shakes his head to clear it and follows the signs to the exit. His heart pounds in his ears, rapid-fire.

 

Hendo walks out into the bustling terminal, groups of tourists spilling out behind him, searching for luggage and taxies.

 

He spots Studge almost immediately, leaned casually against a pillar. He’s got one of those funny hats on, Hendo can never remember what they’re called except that Studge seems to think they’re high fashion.

 

He sets off in a brisk walk in his direction, evading oncoming people deftly, even when his body is aching and he just wants to go to sleep. Studge straightens up from his slouch when he notices his approach, a bright grin stealing across his face.

 

They meet in a hug, in the shadow of the pillar. Hendo’s palms come up to rest on his back, feeling the back muscles contract through the thin cotton, and Studge runs his fingers up the base of his neck, pressing their cheeks together. Hendo’s is rough, with a hint of stubble, but Studge is clean-shaven, and smells faintly of sandalwood and the sea.

 

“Hey, Jord,” Studge murmurs into his ear, “let’s go home.”

 

Hendo closes his eyes briefly and goes.

 

 

*

 

 

They’re quiet in the car, but there’s no tension. Studge’s got music on, some mellow singer-songwriter that he sings along with occasionally. It’s dark already and the streets grow burnished orange in the lamplight. The cars in the opposing lanes blind him with their headlights.

 

Studge doesn’t ask him how the festivities were, or about the match. That’s good; Hendo isn’t really ready to talk about it.

 

The sea is a big dark shape on the horizon, and when Studge turns into a driveway and cuts the engine, Hendo can hear the crash of waves against the shore.

 

He doesn’t bother paying any attention to his surroundings, instead lets himself be guided through the half-lit hallways by the soft press of Studge’s fingers on his back; into the stark white bathroom and then onto crisp washed sheets.

 

Studge turns off the lights and settles under the covers with him. Hendo waits for his eyes to adjust in the darkness, waits until he sees the muted white of Studge’s smile before he pulls closer. He pushes Studge onto his back and lays his head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating through the thin cotton of his T-shirt.

 

The crash of waves on rocks is loud and distracting, but Studge’s heartbeat is louder in his ear. Hendo drifts off to sleep, smiling briefly at the glide of fingers through his hair.

 

 

*

 

 

Hendo wakes up to an empty bed, the crashing waves muted in his ears, like the far off sound of a stadium crowd, and for a moment he doesn’t know where he is.

Then the other sounds filter in; the creaking of the wooden floor, dishes clacking against each other and the murmur of Studge singing along to the radio.

 

He hides a smile into his pillow, splays out across the big soft bed and thinks about staying there for a while, sleeping in. But his stomach is growling and Studge is a great cook, so he sits up instead, fighting with the knotted up sheets and heading out the bedroom, following the sounds.

 

The sight that greets him isn’t unexpected, but it’s certainly welcome. Studge is standing in front of the stove, cracking some eggs in a pan, and as Hendo watches one of the eggs pops in the hot oil and Studge lets out a little scream. There’s water already warming in the kettle for tea and toast already set out on a plate and buttered. The windows are open, letting in the breeze.

 

“Are you going to stand there all morning and watch?” Hendo is startled out of his thoughts by Studge, who’s deftly sliding the eggs onto a plate and crossing the floor to set them on the table.

 

They pause like that, sizing each other up.

 

Hendo notes the laughter lines around Studge’s mouth and the barest traces of crows’ feet around his eyes. He’s standing a bit lopsidedly, leaning on his right side, which Hendo knows usually means that Studge’s pain meds haven’t kicked in yet, to soften the hip that’s gotten stiff overnight. There’s bright sunlight coming through the window near the kitchen table, highlighting his dark curls and smoothing out his skin. He’s glowing and that’s probably an unsuitably sappy thing to think, but Studge is smiling widely at him, a bright flash of teeth, and Hendo’s retired now, so he’s allowed at least a little bit sappiness.

 

He wonders what Studge thinks when he looks at him.

 

“Well?”

 

“Since you went to all this trouble, I suppose I could eat,” as if on cue, Hendo’s stomach lets out a growl and Studge throws his head back and laughs.

 

“Eat up. Then I’ll give you a tour of the house,” Studge says, walking back to the counter to pour them both some tea.

 

“I’ve already seen it, you know,” Hendo points out, toast halfway to his mouth.

 

“I know,” Studge says, handing Hendo his mug. It’s red and has Stevie G.’s face on it, “but you haven’t seen it like this.”

 

He’s probably right; Hendo’s seen the house plenty of times, has vacationed in Jamaica, at Studge’s for a number of years, every time he’s had a few days free. But he hasn’t seen the house as he’s right now, retired and unsure, searching for a place to call home.

 

He reaches out on a whim, grabbing for Studge’s hand over the table, like it’s a romantic dinner instead of just breakfast. Studge pauses, looks at him, concerned, then smiles.

 

“Eat your breakfast Jord,” he says, softly, warmly, in the backdrop of their kitchen, the smell of the sea blowing through the windows and reggae playing quietly from the radio. His fingers squeeze once, twice, reassuringly, before Hendo lets go and finally turns his attention to the food.

 

 

*

 

 

The first time they talked about the house was in an interview. It was something lighthearted, probably for Kop Kids, and the pint sized reporter had asked them about retirement plans. It left Hendo scrambling for answers, but Studge didn’t even have to think.

 

“I want to buy a house in Jamaica,” he’d said, “near the sea and with a private beach. I’ll turn into one of those old men that sleep in their hammock all day.”

 

Everyone in the studio had laughed, but Hendo had been struck by the image for a moment, of Studge in soft printed shirts, looking so natural against the perfect blue of the sea and the soft sand. Mostly he’d been struck by how easily he could imagine himself by his side.

 

He’d forgotten his answer by now, maybe ‘I want to try punditry’ or ‘I want to get a dog’ or ‘I want a house with a porch’, but that image had stayed.

 

Studge was driving him home, navigating the shadowed Liverpool streets like a professional, when Hendo brought it up.

 

“That house of yours sounds really nice,” he’d said, trying to hide how obviously he was staring at Studge’s profile, occasionally lit up by the passing streetlights.

 

Their relationship had been so new then. Studge still drove off to his own apartment rather than staying the night and they’d stumbled around each other in training, terrified that a stray look might reveal them to the world.

 

“You think?” Studge had said, “I answered that on a whim, but the more I think about it, the nicer it gets. It’d be good to go to Jamaica and settle there.”

 

“I’ve never been.” Of course Hendo hadn’t, but there was a tone in Studge’s voice, a wistfulness, that made him wish suddenly that he had.

 

“Really?” Studge’s eyes darted briefly to the side and their gazes met, “I’ll have to take you then. You’d like it. Maybe get a tan for once in your life, instead of that pasty ass.”

 

“Hey, I tan plenty!”

 

“Lobster red doesn’t count, Hendo. Neither does fake tan orange. We’d have to practically slather you in factor 30!”

 

“Well, I mean, if you’re volunteering to put your hands all over my body…”

 

And that had been that for a while.

 

 

*

 

 

Despite his frequent brilliance, injuries continued to plague Studge’s playing time and he’d been forced to retire quicker than he or Hendo had hoped for.

 

Studge had been inconsolable.

 

Hendo, who’d almost never seen his boyfriend anything but steady and unflappable, was suddenly confronted with the role of the caretaker in their relationship and he’s willing to admit now that he hadn’t taken to it well. It wasn’t entirely his fault; Studge was too used to hiding his feelings with a well worded joke, too skilled in misdirection for Hendo to figure out what he needed.

 

They’d fought a lot on those days. Long screaming rows, where Studge had been frightfully cold, until his knee started hurting him too much to stand, and Hendo was blazing hot anger, until he saw the first wince.

 

They’d sit on the couch after Hendo had fetched another icepack and Hendo said, “We’re going to be okay,” and for the first time ever, he felt like Studge didn’t believe him.

 

In the end, he’d done the only thing he could think of to fix it; he’d called Mrs. Sturridge. Studge’s mom swept into their household in a flurry of bright dresses and the smell of spice, and announced she was staying a while. Several things happened in quick succession: the two of them started eating better, there was less fights with a mediator there and Studge started smiling again.

 

Along with her spices and her bubbly personality, Grace Sturridge also brought with her news of Jamaica. Specifically, a plot of land near the seaside that had gone on sale and that she’d heard about from a cousin of a cousin. It only needed a building permit and a plan.

 

Hendo watched across the dinner table, stuffed full of delicious food, as the sparkle slowly came back into Studge’s eyes and felt something in his chest unknot. After Grace retired to bed, Studge curled into his side on the couch and pressed a kiss to the soft skin behind Hendo’s ear, an apology and a promise all in one.

 

“Thanks for calling my mom.”

 

Hendo just nodded, pulled him closer to breathe in the familiar scent of his shampoo. There’s a lot of things he could have said; ‘I was afraid your heart was broken,’ ‘I thought you were going to leave,’ ‘I thought you hated me,’ but he didn’t say anything at all in the end.

 

The moment seems too precious, too rare, to disturb with words.

 

 

*

 

 

Studge travels a lot, between Jamaica and Liverpool, always with a set of plans or wood samples or tile colors that he urgently needs Hendo to look at. The traveling hardly seems to faze him, always smiling, his eyes sparkling. He looks like the young man Hendo fell in love with and if there ever was a way to stop loneliness, it’s Studge’s smile.

 

“Where’s the porch?” Hendo asks sometimes, leaning onto Studge’s shoulders where he’s pouring over plans and papers.

 

“Porch? Hendo, do we really need a porch?”

 

“A porch and a white picket fence, isn’t that the dream?” Hendo says, grinning.

 

“You’ve been watching too many American movies.”

 

“If you don’t make me a porch, I’ll be forced to make one myself and who knows how that’ll turn out.”

 

“Pretty well, I reckon,” Studge shrugs. “You’ve always been very good at everything you set your mind to.”

 

Hendo mumbles something, ducking his face into his collar to hide his blush. Studge laughs, reaches out to brush his fingers through Hendo’s ungelled hair. They’d been together for years and Hendo still went shy at any sign of praise.

 

“Okay,” Studge says, softly, “you can make us a porch when we move in.”

 

He smells more like sea salt and wood than his cologne lately, and Hendo finds that he likes it.

 

 

*

 

 

The construction is completed in a year and a half, and Hendo goes with Studge to inspect it, even though it means that he has to board a plane right after training and jet off early the next morning.

 

Still, it’s worth it, seeing the beautiful building rising up before them, following Studge up the two steps and through the doors, and knowing that this is entirely theirs. The wooden floors are empty still and there are traces of sand in the corners, but it feels welcoming beneath Hendo’s feet.

 

He takes a few more steps to stand next to Studge in the middle of what’ll be their living room and can’t suppress a gasp. Its evening and the sun is making its meandering path beyond the horizon. They have a clear view of the sky through the glass double doors, the yellows and pinks and the oranges.

 

Studge steps forward, mutely, and slides the door open. Hendo takes a deep breath, lets the salt smell of the ocean fill his lungs, lets himself believe that this is real.

 

Studge throws him a look over his shoulder, and he’s smiling, a soft blurred smile that Hendo’s never seen on his face, even with the trophies and the triumphs they’d shared. He takes it as invitation to step forward and wrap his arms around his waist, and they watch the horizon until the sun disappears and the first twinkles of stars start appearing in the sky.

 

They don’t go to sleep that evening; there’s nowhere to sleep. But they sit together on the wooden floor against the white bare walls, and they talk, late into the night.

 

Studge drives him to the airport in the early hours of the morning and Hendo watches the slash of his profile against the streetlights and doesn’t think about how long it’ll be till he sees it again.

 

 

*

 

 

And we come to now, to Hendo’s first day of retirement, to sleeping in and having a big breakfast. They walk to the beach after, not that it’s particularly far. Studge doesn’t exactly laugh at Hendo’s swimsuit and its Liverbird design, but that’s because he’s too busy trying to peel it off him in a chase so immature that they sprawl into the sand after, exhausted.

 

After that, they attempt to both squeeze into a hammock spread under a cluster of trees in their backyard, almost popping out Studge’s back and adding a rock shaped bruise to Hendo’s. Finally, they manage to reach a truce with the stubborn piece of cloth, contorted together like pretzels to keep the delicate balance.

 

“You’ve gotten fat now that you’ve retired.”

 

“I’ve only been on vacation for two days! You’re the one who’s been on your nan’s cooking for months now.”

 

“How dare you, Henderson! You love my body, boy, don’t front.”

 

They tumble into the sand again, shaking with laughter and stay there. As far as Hendo sees it, this is like their honeymoon period, before Studge’s habit of never using the shower curtain starts annoying him again.

 

There’s only one thing that one should ever do on their honeymoon.

 

It’s much easier to make-out like teenagers on the sand anyway. Easier to remove clothes, too.

 

 

*

 

 

A week passes, wherein they do touristy things and lay around on the beach, swim and cuddle, and are in general disgustingly adorable for men over thirty. But then, the pre-frozen dinners that’ve kindly been supplied by Studge’s mom, or cousin, or the old ladies from down the street that are truly excited to have such fine young men as their new neighbors, all slowly run out and they have to face the outside for provisions.

 

They bicker over everything, from cereal to jam, to who’s going to let go of each other’s hand so they can drive the trolley properly.

 

Nobody asks them for an autograph. Nobody recognizes them when they load the car trunk, even though Hendo finds himself reflexively checking for phone cameras around them.

 

It’s nice, driving back to their house, discussing what they’ll be having for dinner and what movie they’ll watch, cuddled up on the couch in their sweatpants and then go to bed together, knowing that there’s not training to get to in the morning, no game to be played in front of the eyes of thousands.

 

It’s nice and yet…

 

 

*

 

 

It’s late afternoon and they’re cuddled up in their bed, just enjoying the quiet, their knees pressed together under the blanket, sharing the same pillow.

 

“I feel like there’s something lodged in the base of my throat, like when you’re stressed all the time and I don’t understand why I can’t get rid of it now that I’m done with it all.” Hendo feels awful for breaking the quiet, but there’s something in him that’s been off-kilter all this time and despite the jokes, Studge has always been good at giving advice.

 

“Oh, babe,” Studge murmurs, reaching up to stroke Hendo’s hair from his face. He’s stopped using hair gel a few days ago, doesn’t even remember when. “You don’t have to give up all of it, you know. You’ve been carrying all the responsibility for so long that it’s hard to let it go.”

 

Hendo closes his eyes with a sigh, enjoying the fingers brushing slowly through his hair, but after a moment, the knot in his chest makes itself known, his eyelids painted with endless rolling green and the white of the goalpost up ahead. He opens his eyes to look at Studge, soft and concerned, nothing like the intense focus he used to be on the pitch, when he was just a flash of red in the corner of Hendo’s eye. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

 

“I’m trying.”

 

“I know you are. But you don’t have to get rid of everything, you know. I caught you checking the transfer rumors last week. When the new season starts, we can watch the games together. Anything you need.”

 

There’s been a self-imposed exile from football in their house till now. Except from the framed jerseys on the walls and a few photographs, you’d never have guessed that the place belonged to two former football players. Their cleats are in the closet somewhere, unopened since they’d moved in.

 

“Okay,” Hendo says, tilting his head into Studge’s touch. “Can we take the ball out tomorrow for a kickabout on the beach?”

 

“Sure we can.” Studge looks peaceful, smiling slightly, but it’s sometimes hard to tell with him, if he’s upset or not, just like it’s hard to tell if his injuries are hurting him. Hendo knows that Studge’s had time to learn how to take the pain with a smile and it’s something that used to terrify him.

 

That he’d fail him somehow by not noticing, pushing him too far, not being there.

 

Studge used to accuse him of hovering and Hendo had thrown his silence in his face. It’d taken ages for Studge to allow him to see him taking medication, to not feel smothered by Hendo’s gaze on the small white pills on his lips. It’s taken even longer for Hendo to learn how to read the strain in the furrow between his eyebrows, in the way he’d lean ever so slightly to the right, and how not to raise a fuss about it.

 

There’s none of the strain in him now, in Hendo’s arms, his breathing evened out and his ankle thrown over Hendo’s calf.

 

Hendo closes his eyes too, ignores the phantom floodlights and buries his head in Studge’s hair to stop the smell of freshly mown grass. They sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

Studge goes back to work at his business, exporting spices and Jamaican food to the UK. It’s not as lucrative as the whole football hubris, but Hendo knows it makes him happy.

 

Hendo familiarizes himself with the house in the meantime, mostly by lying on the couch and watching movies, and occasionally venturing down to the beach for a tan. He cooks too, to avoid the accusation that he’s lazy. Studge comes home every day at 3pm on the dot, kisses him and eats everything without complaint, even if it’s just a bit too nutritional still.

 

Milly calls him sometimes, to complain about how Hendo’s betrayed Northerners everywhere by moving somewhere warm and without pasties (even if he’d spent the entirety of their playing career aggressively asserting how not-Northern Hendo was) and Ads sends pictures of his kids. Hendo looks at through them, of little Arthur starting school and Albie helping with the baking, and then he looks at Studge, settled across him on the couch, reading a book, and he thinks maybe.

 

 

*

 

 

Hendo signs up for a carpentry class. Studge laughs for half an hour after he tells him about it, but he dutifully drops him off at the university every morning on his way to work, and picks him up on his way home.

 

Two year later, they’ve got a porch. It’s rough in some patches, where the wood just wouldn’t align right under Hendo’s inexperienced fingers, and the paint is splattered on the sides from where they got in a paint fight while they were trying to paint it. Studge was the one who insisted they paint it red.

 

It’s creaky and rough, but it’s theirs and Hendo can sit on the back stairs with a beer and watch the sea, and not think about football at all.

 

The porch is also where he goes when Liverpool is fighting for their Champions League final win with penalties, and he grips the railing so hard he gives himself splinters, until Studge’s loud yelling alerts him that they’ve won.

 

A familiar song spills through from the fans on the screen, mingling with the sounds of the ocean from the open window, and they join in, leaning against each other and grinning like loons, and they believe it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's not /that/ unlikely that we'll see Liverpool in the CL finals somewhere in the future, right? Right? Why are you laughing!
> 
> Studge calls Hendo, Jord, according to the Rap Quiz video and I thought that was cute and left it in. Also, they totes get a dog later. Can you learn how to build a porch in two years? Idk, probably? Like, I haven't ever built a porch before, but if there are any aspiring porch builders in my fic reading audience please feel free to correct me.


End file.
